No Tomorrow

Cringing at the way she characterizes me, I drape my coat over a chair at the kitchen table, reach into the cabinet above the counter, and pull out four dinner plates.

“They’re not taking advantage of me, Mom. I was late coming back from lunch, and I had to make up the time. That’s all.”

Donning oven mitts, she pulls a meatloaf out of the oven and then nudges the appliance closed with her knee. “I worked in an office for a long time. I know how some people get stepped on and taken advantage of, and I don’t want you to be treated like that. Once you set a pattern, it will follow you forever. You need to have a firm backbone, okay?”

“Her? A backbone?” my younger sister Courtney repeats as she enters the kitchen. “She’s the mushiest person I know.”

“Is it pick on Piper day?” I ask as I place the dinner plates on the oak table. Meanwhile, our formal dining room—with a beautiful view of the flower garden in our backyard—sits unused, only to be occupied on holidays and rare special occasions. If I ever have a nice dining room, I’m going to eat in it every night, even if I’m noshing ramen noodles all alone.

The comments from my mother and sister bring back uncomfortable yet all-too-familiar memories of being the middle child, sandwiched between two sisters who are pretty damn close to perfect. They’re both gorgeous, tall, confident, athletic, raven-haired beauties. They’re graceful, popular, and excel at everything they set their minds to.

Then there’s me, sticking out like a sore thumb with blond hair and light eyes. I’m so short the top of my head barely reaches their shoulders. I’m shy, socially awkward, and look like I am perpetually stalked by a dark cloud. The utter misfit in all our family photographs.

Years ago, I stopped trying to compete with them for attention and slipped into the background of our family. Nobody seemed to notice.

“No one’s picking on you. I’m giving you some professional advice. That’s all.”

Just as the last serving dish is placed on the table, my father—tall, smiling, and handsome with just a touch of gray at his temples—joins us at the table. We each take the same chairs we’ve been sitting in since I was about five years old. The only difference in this family scene is the empty chair belonging to my older sister, Karissa, who’s now in law school and happily engaged to a fellow law student. A man my mother describes as a gorgeous hunk of perfect man and the kind of man she wishes I would find.

I don’t want to find a man at all. I’m open to meeting one, but the term finding one scares me. I’m lost enough on my own. I don’t need to find a man equally as lost and disoriented with life as I currently am.

I think I need a man with his own compass.

After dinner, I make a quick exit to my space downstairs, a sigh of relief leaving my lungs as soon as I’m on the other side of the door that separates me from them. My plan is to get my own place next year, once I have enough money stashed in my savings account to give me a decent safety net.

Ditra, my best friend, has been after me for months to move in with her, but she’s a major slob. She keeps food in her refrigerator until it can’t be identified anymore. The stains on her carpet are oddly sticky and hard. And she’s going through an experimental phase of fooling around with random men and women—sometimes at the same time—and that kind of oogs me out. I can’t picture myself sleeping in the next room with my cat while she’s just on the other side of the wall with her latest petri-dish date.

Living with my family for a while longer won’t kill me.

Archie, my striped tiger cat, is staring at me with accusing green eyes from beside his food dish, which apparently has fewer morsels of food than he requires, even though I filled it this morning. Like the obedient human he’s trained me to be, I add more food and give him fresh water before I change into cotton shorts and a T-shirt.

I do one hundred crunches.

I do fifty donkey kicks per leg.

I do fifty squats.

I wash my face, brush my teeth for two minutes, and comb the hairspray out of my hair so it’s not a sticky mess when I shower in the morning.

I check Archie’s dishes one more time and set the outfit I plan to wear tomorrow at the very front of my closet.

Nightly rituals complete, I grab Archie and carry him to the bedroom with me. I slip Titanic into the VCR and crawl under the comforter to watch it for the tenth time. I’ve seen it in the theater twice—once with Ditra, who was bored by it—most likely due to the lack of sex scenes—and once with Courtney, who cried but enjoyed it, even though she cursed out Rose for not letting Jack onto that floating door.